


In the Marais

by ThatPilotGirl



Category: The Queen's Gambit (TV)
Genre: Bisexual Female Character, Canon Bisexual Character, Draw Me Like One of Your French Girls, F/F, Girls Kissing, Paris (City), Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:33:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27506128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatPilotGirl/pseuds/ThatPilotGirl
Summary: Beth plans her Paris trip better this time
Relationships: Cleo/Beth Harmon
Comments: 17
Kudos: 147





	In the Marais

**Author's Note:**

> I swear I did not mean for this to turn into "draw me like one of your French girls" but it did.
> 
> Anyways. I don't own anything.

Trans-atlantic calls cost the kind of money that still makes Beth wince, but every penny is worth it when Cleo picks up the phone

"Bonjour?"

"Bonjour! It's Beth."

"Ma cherie! And what has the world's greatest chess player calling little old Cleo?"

"Well, I wanted to make up for last time. I don't suppose you'll be in Paris next week? I was thinking of coming to town early for the next tournament. I know, it's quite far ahead. I'd like to see you. I mean. I want to see you." Beth bites her tongue before she can blab any more.

"Next week? I have a shoot so I will be here. Shall we go to your lovely hotel bar again? Or you can stay with me and we can go to plays and concerts."

There's a slight tease there, but Beth can also tell that she means it.

"Plays and concerts I think."

"Tres bien. Now. Do you have a pen?"

Beth scribbles down the address and one week later find herself climbing out of the cab in front of an apartment building. She makes her way up and knocks, feeling oddly nervous. What if Cleo is out? Instead the door swings open.

"You have found me!" Cleo says, pleased, sweeping Beth into a hug and brushing kisses over her cheeks. "I have a couch, if you'd like it."

Cleo's is like Benny's, one big kitchen/living/dining room with a bedroom off to the side and a closet for a bathroom. Unlike Benny's, it is tastefully furnished and decorated with all sorts of art. Beth drops her bag on the couch and wanders about taking in the paintings, the photographs, the view from the window. The chessboard in the corner.

"You said you didn't play!" 

Cleo shrugs, "Arthur and Hilton insisted I learn how to move the pieces"

"Any other hidden talents?"

Cleo tilts her head in a way Beth finds immediately intriguing, flicks her gaze to one of the sketches on the wall. A study of a face.

"You drew this?"

"Oui."

"It's beautiful." Beth says, crossing the room and gathering Cleo's hands in hers. "Truly."

"Hmm. Perhaps." Cleo replies, gazing at Beth, and then Cleo is kissing her and Beth is kissing back.

Kissing Cleo is like being caught in a sudden rain; it's liberating and exhilarating and terrifying all at once and Beth wants to dance but also to run for cover. When they break apart she is breathless but there's no breath to be caught because then they're falling together again and at least they make it to the bedroom.

Beth's hands fall to Cleo's waist, untucking the shirt and rubbing her thumbs in circles against Cleo's hips and then pushing up and the garment hits the floor with a whisper.

Cleo's fingers play at the zipper of Beth's dress and then tug; Beth rolls her shoulders so it falls down and she steps out of it. Cleo looks at her, nearly bare, and Beth can feel the blush come over her.

She sits down on the bed and Cleo says "scoot back" so Beth does as she's told, undoing her bra while Cleo does the same. Cleo kisses her ankle, the inside of her other knee, the damp fabric of her underwear once before pulling it down and Beth gets momentarily preoccupied with being embarrassed but Cleo's head goes down and she makes her tongue a point inside of Beth and then against her clit, circling and rubbing while her fingers smooth over Beth's thighs, hips, stomach. Beth keeps softly; Cleo hums in satisfaction and the vibrations make Beth gasp and fist the sheets with one hand, the other flying to Cleo's head because yes, please, there, right there where Beth is grinding down onto Cleo's tongue inside her and her nose against her clit and Beth comes with a gasp and a whimper and Cleo comes up with her makeup a mess looking like the cat who got the canary to lay her head on Beth's shoulder.

Beth wants to kiss her and so she does, wants to hold Cleo's soft breasts in her hands so she does, a memory of last time coming back as she plays with the other girls nipples getting a soft hum for her efforts. She brings her hand down farther, under the waistline of Cleo's panties and adjusting her whole self to get an angle where she can curl her fingers up inside of the French girl, rub her thumb - "a little up, a little ov-oh!"

Beth watches Cleo's face, kisses her to drink in her noises and they spend the rest of the afternoon going back and forth like that until Beth's legs feel like jelly and they're both flushed and falling asleep together.

When Beth wakes up Cleo has a sketchbook out and daylight is streaming through the window. 

"Don't move" Cleo orders, and Beth is content to doze and listen to the pencil scratch.

"There." Cleo says a couple of minutes or days or years later, flipping it around.

Beth's eyes trace the wave of hair, the face half peaking out, the line of a shoulder and jut of an elbow and curve of a breast disappearing under a blanket. She blushes.

("Have you been to Rio?"

"Rio? Non."

"What kind of a vagabond has never been to Rio? Well. There's a tournament in June."

"So far away," Cleo says, but she's smiling.)


End file.
